The House at Riverton by Kate Morton

Having read The Forgotten Garden earlier this month and given that I loved it, I thought it a good idea to check out Kate Morton's first novel. The House at Riverton tells the story of Grace Reeves, who worked in the Riverton household as a young domestic during World War I, is in 1999 living out her last days in a nursing home. Out of the blue, a young woman directing a film about a tragedy that occurred on the house's grounds contacts her, asking for her input on the project, which conjures up strong and long-repressed memories of Grace's time as a servant at Riverton. Feeling that she ought to finally tell someone what happened the night of the tragedy, Grace begins recording a series of audio tapes that she sends to her missing grandson, hoping the tale will bring him back to his family.

In the acknowledgments and notes at the end of the novel, Morton mentions that one of her aims in writing the book was to incorporate some of the elements of the Gothic novel: the past haunting the present, as Grace's memories begin to do, making it difficult for her to distinguish what is happening and what has happened; the idea that deep family secrets must always end up uncovered; and the narrative device of flashback. Morton makes excellent use of these tropes while still maintaining a mainly linear chronology, and the story is compelling, especially as we learn that despite Grace's early belief in the order of things (namely that she is a servant and the Riverton family are above her station), she goes on to become an archaeologist and live her own life, independent of a servile identity that she had previously cultivated so carefully.

I definitely enjoyed The House at Riverton; however, it lacks somewhat the polish that The Forgotten Garden can claim, and generally has a less compelling narrative in that the main action revolves around a life of servitude. Nevertheless, the level of service and devotion demonstrated by Grace and the other servants is inspiring in its selflessness.

All in all, if you enjoy Kate Morton's style, this is a good read, and if you find historical fiction from unusual perspectives fascinating, this will also be an excellent choice.

The Heroes of Olympus, Book One: The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan

For those of you out there who have read the Percy Jackson series by Rick Riordan, this new continuation of those books was one I couldn't pass up. I really enjoyed the updating of the Greek mythos by transplanting the gods and demigods to America, and the positive life lessons and encouragement Riordan gives to his young readers as he addresses topics like ADHD, dyslexia, and self-image.

That being said, The Lost Hero picks up a few months after the end of the Titan War as recounted in The Last Olympian, the final book in the Percy Jackson series--though we don't know that at the start. The book opens with a teenage boy named Jason awaking in a school bus surrounded by people he doesn't know. Oh, and he's got complete amnesia, and only knows his own name because the girl sitting next to him claim's she his girlfriend, and the guy across from her is supposedly his best friend. After being attacked by vengeful wind spirits, Jason, Piper, and Leo are transported to Camp Half-Blood, where Jason discovers he and his friends feature in a new Great Prophecy, and that while his fellow campers are Greek demigods, he may be the offspring of the Roman incarnation of a particular deity. The kids race across the States to accomplish their task, each wrangling with their own inner struggles as they attempt to fulfill their destiny. Did I mention that Percy Jackson is missing? Uh oh.

This book is amazing. Riordan really outdid himself in expanding his universe and deepening the mystery of his earlier Percy Jackson novels. Bringing out the Roman side of the Greek gods and goddesses was also a stroke of genius, allowing for an even more complicated picture of the interaction between the gods and mortals. I particularly enjoyed the teens' visit to Quebec City, given that I lived there for a while, and note that the cover depicts the Chateau Frontenac in Old Town Quebec, where a certain god of the winds has set up residence in the penthouse suite.

All in all, an excellent read, particularly for fans of Greek mythology and those who enjoyed the Percy Jackson books.

Beautiful Darkness by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl

I've been eagerly awaiting this book--the second in a projected quartet called The Caster Chronicles--since I read the first volume, Beautiful Creatures, back over the summer. I was so eager, in fact, that when I arrived at the Union Station Barnes & Noble, the booksellers had yet to put the books out on the shelves. It was, after all, the first day the book was available for purchase.

The books are set in a sleep Southern town in South Carolina, where the grits are cheesy and the people wave Confederate flags, and everything is always the same. Ethan Wate, the youngest scion of a family that's been holed up in the same town for generations, dreams of getting away until he meets Lena Duchannes, a mysterious girl who's come to live with her creepy uncle, the town's resident social pariah and enigma. As Ethan and Lena begin a relationship, Ethan learns more and more about Lena and her uncle's secrets, the town's shady history, and his own family's closeted skeletons. With endearing characters, vivid settings, and an original "universe" (for the fantasy/sci-fi novice, that refers to the rules and conventions of a fictional world), readers get sucked into Ethan and Lena's lives and find themselves thinking about this unlikely couple even when the book is finished.

Like I said, I was super excited for Beautiful Darkness to come out. So, did it live up to my expectations? Definitely. Plenty of surprises, twists, and unexpected appearances made this next book a thrilling and exceptional read. For those who have read Beautiful Creatures, some people we thought were dead aren't--or aren't exactly. Other characters who we thought we understood aren't quite all they previously appeared. And the secrets of Gatlin have only gotten deeper and more impenetrable. No more spoilers!

A Must Read for everyone, particularly if you haven't gotten into this series yet. Pick up Beautiful Creatures and get your rear in gear!

The Marks of Cain by Tom Knox

In a departure from yesterday's review comes a title I just finished this morning before lunch--one that I probably wouldn't recommend to anyone except my sister, who loves to read adrenaline-pumping-style books regardless of their relative merit. That may be a little overgeneralized, but as I once said, I'm allowed to make generalizations when I'm standing on a chair. Or blogging from my personal literary soapbox. Which is, in my imagination, somewhat chair-like.

Anyhow, I will admit to generally enjoying the perusal of Dan Brown-esque novels (which are currently rather ubiquitous), and while I loved The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons, I didn't love The Lost Symbol (too cookie-cutter and similar to his last novels, plus I guessed the "big" revelation that is so essential to Brown's plots). Steve Berry, however, a lesser known but more prolific writer in the same style, also attempts to tackle similarly interesting issues but without the somewhat self-conscious desire to stir up talk about sensitive issues.

Tom Knox (which is a pen name for a British journalist) seems to write his books in order to provoke controversy. His earlier novel, The Genesis Secret, took a religious concept, mixed in some modern science, added a suitably manly protagonist, and dolloped a fair bit of sex and profanity to finish the job. The same thing goes on in The Marks of Cain, which drags in everything from medieval witch burnings to eugenics to the Holocaust to genetic diseases, with a result about as mixed as the ingredients. The plot goes something like this: David Martinez, orphaned at fifteen, is called to his dying Spanish grandfather's hospital bed to receive a well worn map and a vague confession about the past that prompts him to follow the route laid out on the old atlas--with the help of a cool couple million dollars his grandpop had lying around. Meanwhile, Simon Quinn, mediocre journalist extraordinaire, is investigating brutally cruel murders in and around Britain ... the only link being the victims' origins in the Basque country of southern France and northern Spain. As Martinez follows the trail, he meets a beautiful blond Jewish woman, runs afoul of a cannibalistic ETA terrorist, and generally gets to travel unglamorously to Germany and Namibia.

While somewhat thought-provoking and set in exotic locales, this lacks all of the sparkle of other Dan Brown wannabes, substituting violence and sex for plot holes. It was fascinating to see how the background of eugenics had a direct influence on the Holocaust--if I can trust the background scholarship. (The jury is out on that one.) Overall, I wouldn't recommend it except for a case of extreme airport boredom.

The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton

It's not every day that I come across a book I love so much that I recommend it to everyone I have the chance to. This novel is one of those rare volumes that I think everybody ought to read.

The Forgotten Garden tells the story of Nell Andrews, an Australian woman living a happy life, young and engaged and carefree, until her father tells her on her twenty-first birthday that he isn't her father: he found her on the docks in Maryborough, Australia, when she was four years old with no memories and knowing only that she had crossed the ocean on a liner from another country. The harbormaster (her father) and his wife adopt the girl, naming her after their aunt Eleanor and keeping her origins a secret. Nell is understandably devastated, and feeling a stranger in her adoptive family, she withdraws further and further away from them. The narrative weaves back and forth between her traumatic sea voyage, her married life, and her golden years, detailing her quest to discover who she is and where she came from, and her only clues lie in a suitcase that her father found with her, containing a book of fairy tales written by a little-known English author. The novel goes even further, narrating Nell's granddaughter Cassandra's efforts to follow in her grandmother's footsteps after Nell dies with the mystery still elusive. Cassandra ends up learning more than she bargained for about her grandmother, about herself, and about life.

Kate Morton has a true talent for making characters come to life on the page. I cared more about and felt closer to these characters, despite the distance of third-person narrative, than I did to some first-person narrators in books I've read recently, including Andrew Marlow of Kostova's The Swan Thieves. The interweaving of past, present, and future narratives may leave some readers wrong-footed, but the story flows as if the narrative were perfectly linear and even feels logical. But the thing I loved most about this book is the gripping depiction of relationships. After all, the book's central thrust is the concept of identity, of coming to terms with one's origins and family, and nothing illustrates our identity better than our interactions with others.

Truly, this book is one for the ages. I highly recommend it to everyone. The Forgotten Garden is my first Must Read Title of this blog--and I eagerly await Kate Morton's next novel, due out in November!

Daughters of the Witching Hill by Mary Sharratt

Now, I'm a sucker for good historical fiction. That's why I love writers like Ann Rinaldi, who do an amazing job of integrating compelling fictional stories with historical fact and circumstance. Mary Sharratt, author of Daughters of the Witching Hill, proves to have a gift for this kind of writing. I'm also a sucker for anything set in the early colonial era, whether in America or Britain, as I find that period fascinating.

This novel, set around the time of the 1612 witch hunt in Pendle, an area in northwestern England's Lancashire, explores the life of one Elizabeth Southerns, known popularly as Mother Demdike. An illegitimate daughter of a local nobleman, Bess Southerns spends her life begging for charity from her newly Protestant (and newly stingy) fellow townspeople, while she finds herself longing for the "old religion" of Catholicism mixed with country superstition. As the narrative progresses, she discovers that she possesses a gift for blessing and healing--by using the Latin prayers of Catholicism--and becomes known as a cunning woman, the good counterpart of a medieval witch. When circumstances force Bess to choose between keeping her gift above reproach, never using it to curse, and helping the ravished daughter of a dear friend, she sets in motion a downward spiral that destroys the sense of community in her Pendle town and ultimately brings her and her family under suspicion of witchcraft.

Sharratt has that rare gift of bringing long-ago times and people to life; mimicking carefully speech peculiarities of the time and even terms of endearment common amongst these people, the novel feels as authentic as if it were Bess and her granddaughter Alizon themselves telling the tale to us from beyond the grave. Readers will quickly become accustomed to words and turns of phrase and find themselves enthralled by this gritty yet magical picture of life on the fringes of respectable medieval English society.

Reading Daughters of the Witching Hill was especially interesting when taken into account that the Pilgrims were at this very time (about 1613) preparing their exodus to the New World, where eighty years later they would have their own set of witch hunts and trials. Did the Pilgrims hear stories of the Pendle witch hunts? Or did they perhaps sympathize with James I's fear of witchcraft, as recorded in his manual on "Daemonology"? Whatever the answer, the links there are rather compelling and the common elements--including children condemning adults to hanging--certainly warrant consideration of the connection.

Highly recommended to historical fiction buffs and average readers alike.

The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne

I must confess that I am a Hawthorne devotee for the most part ... though given that his body of work is so small, that doesn't mean much in terms of heavy reading. I loved The Scarlet Letter and "Young Goodman Brown," enjoying the 20/20 hindsight narrative voice Hawthorne loves to use and the sometimes overblown language. I expected I would enjoy The House of the Seven Gables as much as those, if not hopefully more.

The novel follows the fortunes of one Pyncheon family somewhere in New England, the last remaining scions of a once prosperous clan with Puritan origins, whose first head, one Colonel Pyncheon, deeply coveted a piece of land belonging to another man. Faced with his neighbor's refusal to sell the plot, Colonel Pyncheon orchestrated a blow that eventually got the man killed and got himself the land. Supposed to be cursed by his wizard neighbor, Pyncheon built himself a large timbered home with seven gables (hence the title) but only had a little time to enjoy it before being found mysteriously dead in his study in the midst of a family gathering.

Readers meet Hepzibah Pyncheon, a spinsterly recluse who, up against her own insolvency, determines to open a penny store from her home in the House of the Seven Gables, despite her possibly clinical agoraphobia and xenophobia. She is allowed to live in the House by the kindly (or not-so kindly) graces of her cousin, Judge Jaffrey Pyncheon, who cares little for the House or for his poor relations. But the character the readers will care about the most is their young cousin Phoebe, who comes to live with Hepzibah and brightens her life and that of her mentally disturbed brother, Clifford, who later returns home from a mental institution.

The novel explores their lives and woes, but does so in a dreadfully gloomy way--some might say, characteristically Hawthorne. However, it is in an entirely different spectrum than the gloom of The Scarlet Letter; whereas we have a cultural impression of Puritan New England as being gray and rather dour, Seven Gables takes place in the present of the novel's publication, about 1850, well into the beginning of American prosperity. It as is if the cultural haunting of his Puritan ancestors that Hawthorne is said to have dwelled upon permeates the entire narrative and beglooms it and the reader both. This novel may very well have been Hawthorne's attempt to excise this cultural guilt he felt. Again, in contrast with The Scarlet Letter, the moralizing and elevated language here seem to stiltify rather than enhance the story.

Overall, I would recommend this to Hawthorne lovers and those who enjoy a gloomy read every so often.